


Life Blood

by castielofasgard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Basically they have issues, Blood Magic, Codependency, Dark Magic, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Gore, PTSD related nightmares, Reckless self-endangerment in the name of protection, Self-Sacrifice, Temporary Character Death, Vaguely implied Stucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4691531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielofasgard/pseuds/castielofasgard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a horrible tragedy leaves Pietro stricken with grief and guilt, he lets himself be tempted by a suspicious offer that has a dangerous and unexpected side effect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> soo, things kinda start right out of the gate with the emotional trauma, so brace yourselves for a wild ride of a fic...

Things were not looking pretty. The town was a mess, half destroyed, and it was a lucky thing they had managed to evacuate all the civilians before the fight got too bad. This band of Hydra goons were ruthless, and their little alien sidekicks weren’t helping matters. How these agents had made friends with _aliens_ was beyond Pietro, and he didn’t really want to know. Honestly, he rather wished he could go back to the blissful ignorance of the day before when Vision was still the weirdest being Pietro was aware of. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. These aliens existed and the Avengers had to fight them.

Pietro knocked a pair of Hydra agents off their feet and rounded a corner, stopping a moment to catch his breath. This was a mistake. An explosion went off behind him and the remains of the building he was leaning against began to fall. Pietro swore under his breath and started to run, dodging huge chunks of brick that fell like rain around him. Suddenly, a huge metal beam crashed down in front of him, blocking his path. He scrambled to a halt, loosing his footing in his haste and falling to the ground. He looked up at the falling building – even he couldn’t get out of there fast enough now. Covering his head with his arms, he curled himself into a ball, hoping to protect as much of his body as possible from being crushed. Then the building crashed down around him.

The dust began to settle and Pietro lifted his head, finally daring to try and escape. He seemed to be unscathed except for a few cuts and bruises that would probably heal in a few hours. He slowly started to crawl through the wreckage and suddenly gasped in pain. A raw burning ache seared through his thigh and he looked down to inspect the damage. There was a deep, ugly wound there, dark with blood. Okay, that one would take a little longer to heal. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he started crawling again.

“Maximoff? Maximoff, are you okay?” Sam’s voice crackled through the comm.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Pietro panted. “I’m alive.”

 

Several excruciating minutes alter, Pietro finally emerged from the ruins. He tried to stand, but his injured leg wouldn’t hold his weight. Frustrated, he fell back to his knees and looked up to see three Hydra agents, all aiming their guns at him. And he couldn’t run away. As if in slow motion, he saw their fingers inch toward the triggers. This was it? This was how he was going to die, wounded and trapped like a hunted animal? Pietro’s mind flew to Wanda, to Clint... he wouldn’t get to say goodbye, they’d just find him lying there with three bullets in his head. His heart beat wildly as if in defiance of its quickly approaching end and he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to watch the bullets as they came for him.

“No!” a familiar voice screamed.

Then the guns went off. Pietro flinched, waiting for the impact, but it never came. He opened his eyes and a pain worse than bullets tore through him. Standing between Pietro and the gunmen was Clint. Pietro’s heart dropped like a stone and everything around him went numb as Clint staggered slightly and fell to the ground. The Hydra men were still there, guns still aiming at Pietro, but he didn’t care. He crawled to Clint’s side, hands shaking as he tried foolishly to cover up the bullet holes, to stop the bleeding. 

“You didn’t see that coming?” Clint whispered weakly, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“No, don’t you dare,” Pietro said. “Don’t you pull that on me.”

Like he needed reminding of what this looked like, of that day in Sokovia... 

“Please, Clint, don’t do this to me,” he begged, but it was no use.

Clint had gone still, his eyes staring blankly at the cloudless sky. 

“No,” Pietro said, his voice choked with tears. “No no no, please, wake up, you can’t do this, please...”

“Pietro?”

He looked up and found Steve and Tony standing over him. The three Hydra agents were dead on the ground. He hadn’t even heard it happen. Steve stepped forward and laid a hand on Pietro’s shoulder.

“Come on,” he said. “We’re done here. It’s time to go.”

“No, I can’t leave him,” Pietro said.

“I never said we were leaving him. But we need to go,” said Steve.

He tightened his grip on Pietro’s shoulder, but Pietro roughly shrugged his hand away.

“Pietro, please...”

“No,” Pietro sobbed. “He can’t be dead, he _can’t_ be. You have to bring him back, please.”

“I can’t,” said Steve; he had never sounded so small and defeated.

Pietro collapsed onto Clint’s chest, too overcome with sobs to plead anymore. 

“Wanda, we need you on sixth,” Tony said into the comms. 

“On my way,” she replied.

A minute later, Pietro felt a comfortingly familiar hand on his back. 

“Pietro, it’s me,” Wanda murmured gently. “We need to leave. The quinjet is on its way. You can’t stay here. I know how much it hurts, brother, I can feel your pain inside my head. But you have to get up.”

Pietro took a few deep, trembling breaths. Having his sister there calmed him, gave him comfort in a way no one else could. Slowly, he pushed himself up, blinking the lingering tears from his eyelashes. Wanda took his arm and helped him to his feet. Pietro gasped as the pain in his injured pain came rushing back, clinging to her shoulder to keep from falling. Wanda caught him and let him lean his weight against her. Steve leaned down and lifted Clint’s body into his arms, then they slowly boarded the quinjet. Wanda helped Pietro into a seat, then knelt at his side to inspect his wound. Tony took over the pilot’s chair and they began the ride home. 


	2. Guilt

It was official now. Clint was dead. And Pietro almost wished that he could be too. As if the grief of seeing the man he loved die wasn’t enough, he also had to live with the guilt of knowing that Clint was only dead because of him. Because he wasn’t fast enough, because he’d gotten himself injured and cornered, because  _he_ was the one those Hydra agents were supposed to have peppered with bullets, not Clint. He couldn’t stop thinking about all the “if only”s, all the ways he could have stopped this from happening. It was no good, of course. He couldn’t turn back time and fix it. Clint was dead and there was nothing he could do about it. 

 

The funeral was small and private, kept as far away from the media as possible. The last thing they wanted was to have every newspaper in America plastered with the news that one of the Avengers had died. When they returned home after the funeral, Pietro ran straight to his room and shut the door. He threw himself onto the bed, not bothering to take off his shoes or turn on a light, and just lay there, gazing at the empty side of the bed where Clint should be. Here he was determined to stay, never moving, never speaking, until death came and took him away. 

 

That didn’t even last a day. By midnight, Pietro was too miserable with hunger and the need to move to lie there any longer. He shuffled into the kitchen, where he was irritated to find Steve and Sam.

“Hey, buddy. How’re you holding up?” Sam asked.

“Horribly,” said Pietro. 

He got a box of cereal from the pantry and sat at the kitchen table, then started eating it straight out of the box. Steve and Sam exchanged glance. 

“Look, if you need someone to talk to, or even a shoulder to cry on, we’re all here for you,” said Steve. “We’ve all lost people. We understand what you’re going through.”

“Really?” said Pietro skeptically. “Have you ever been responsible for losing the man you love? ‘Cause if not, you can’t really help me.”

“I have, actually,” said Steve.

Pietro stared at him in surprise.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...”

“It’s okay,” Steve replied. “Only Sam and Natasha really know.”

Pietro set down the cereal box, not taking his eyes off Steve.

“Could you... could you tell me about him?” he asked tentatively. “I mean, unless it’s too painful. You don’t have to, I just...”

“Need a distraction?” Sam finished.

“Yeah...”

Steve smiled at him sadly.

“Yeah, I can tell you about him,” he said, joining Pietro at the table. “God, where do I start...”


	3. Blood Magic

 

Time wasn’t making Pietro feel any better. If anything, it was making him feel worse. For two weeks he woke up every morning, half expecting to find Clint sprawled out next to him, only to once again be greeted by the same cold loneliness. He had spent his entire life sleeping alone, but having to get used to that again after months of sharing a bed with the man he loved... it got worse every day. The reality of what losing Clint meant was beginning to sink in, and he hated it. 

 

***

 

The night sky was filled with storm clouds ready to burst, but Pietro paid it no mind. He stepped out into the dark street, leaving behind the noisy crowds of the bar he’d hidden himself away in for the last few hours. A peal of thunder echoed between the buildings, shortly followed by a steady fall of rain. Pietro put up his hood and pulled his jacket closer around himself, folding his arms across his chest. The numbing burn of alcohol still simmered in his chest, keeping him a little warmer than he might otherwise have been. Pietro turned down an alley as a flash of lightning lit of the sky. This dark little alley probably wasn’t the safest place to be walking alone at night, but it was a shortcut back to Avengers Tower and he was already a lot wetter than he’d like to be, so he was willing to risk it. 

Another flash of lightning illuminated the alley and Pietro came to a startled halt. There was an old woman standing in his path, stooped and leaning on a walking stick, a thick shawl protecting her wispy hair from the rain.

“I know why you’re in pain,” the woman said, her voice raspy and surprisingly deep.

“What?” 

“I know why you’re hurting, and I know how to make it stop.”

“You can’t fix this,” said Pietro. “No one can.”

“The man you love is dead,” the woman said. “I can bring him back.”

Pietro’s heart skipped a beat.

“Y-you can?” he asked.

He knew he shouldn’t be trusting this woman. He didn’t know her, and she looked like the old witch from any fairytale he’d ever heard. But still... she said she could bring Clint back. That was what he wanted more than anything, and he was willing to do anything for it to happen.

“Yes, I can. Do you want me to?” the woman said.

“Yes,” Pietro whispered. “Please.”

“Follow me.”

Barely hesitating a moment, Pietro obeyed. The woman led him up the stairs of an apartment building to a flat on the top floor. She ushered him inside and locked the door behind them. The apartment was dimly lit and further confirmed Pietro’s earlier impression of her as an old fairytale witch. There were candles everywhere, jars filled with unusual substances lining the shelves. A nervous chill ran up his spine but he pushed away his misgivings. He was going to get Clint back, and that was all that mattered right now.

“Come,” the woman said, beckoning him into the living room.

She started bustling about with surprising agility, pouring ingredients into a large wooden bowl. When she was done, she sprinkled the contents of the bowl onto the floor in a perfect circle and set the bowl in the center. She then took four candles, lit them, and placed them at opposite corners of the circle. 

“Sit in the circle,” she said.

Pietro stepped forward and did as he was told, sitting in front of the now empty wooden bowl. 

“There is still one more ingredient that the spell needs before I can recite the incantation,” the woman said.

“What ingredient is that?” Pietro asked, feeling more than a little apprehensive now.

“The thing that life needs. Blood.”

“Blood?” Pietro echoed.

“Yes, blood. Your blood. Not all of it,” the woman said quickly, seeing Pietro’s concern. “But quite a lot. Your lover is dead, after all. If we didn’t give him enough blood, he would only come back halfway, no more than a walking corpse.”

Pietro swallowed nervously as the woman picked up a jagged knife and crouched down in front of him. She took his hands and rolled up his sleeves. Pietro’s heart was pounding now, but he just kept telling himself that this was for Clint, that getting Clint back was worth it. 

“You’ll want to make sure all of the blood flows into the bowl,” the woman told him.

Then she sliced the blade across his wrists. Pietro gasped as blood immediately began streaming from the wounds, dripping steadily from his wrists and into the bowl. The woman stood and stepped back out of the circle, chanting something in an unknown language. Oh God, what had he gotten himself into? He had been right, she _was_ a witch, and not the kind that Wanda was. This was the kind of witch that you’re supposed to run away from, the kind that place evil curses and lure innocent princesses to their doom, and tonight Pietro was playing the role of Snow White in some extra grisly retelling that certainly wasn’t going to end with True Love’s Kiss saving the day. 

Pietro was beginning to feel dizzy and he wondered how much longer the witch’s spell would take. Despite all his misgivings, he still didn’t want to risk messing it up in case she wasn’t lying. He just had to focus on Clint. That was all that mattered right now. He had to keep going for Clint, even if the witch drained him dry in the process. 

Suddenly, the door to the apartment slammed open and Wanda, Natasha, and Steve burst inside.

“Pietro!” Wanda gasped, running forward.

“Wanda, wait, stop,” said Pietro desperately. “You can’t stop her now.”

“What the hell are you doing?” said Wanda.

“Saving Clint.”

A wave of excruciating pain ripped through him and he doubled over. Wanda made to run forward again.

“No, stop!” Pietro said through gritted teeth. “You can’t–”

He couldn’t continue. The pain increased exponentially and suddenly he was screaming. The flames on the candles leapt high in the air, surrounding him with pillars of fire. And then, just as quickly as it had started, it all stopped. Pietro collapsed, panting, his head spinning from losing so much blood. Wanda was at his side in an instant.

“It is complete,” the witch announced.

“What is?” Natasha asked.

“Clint... he’s back...” Pietro mumbled. “Where is he?”

“Where his body was, there he is now,” said the witch.

“Oh my God,” said Steve, horrified. “He’s trapped in his grave.”


	4. Back to Life

 

“Sam, don’t worry about how, just get to the cemetery _now_ ,” Natasha said frantically into her phone.

Steve drove the car rather recklessly through the streets, blowing past several red lights. Pietro and Wanda were in the backseat – Wanda was wrapping make-shift bandages around Pietro’s wrists, trying to staunch the bleeding, and Pietro was just desperately trying to retain consciousness. They pulled up outside Avengers Tower and everyone got out but Pietro, who by now was too weak to move. Steve lifted him out of the car and carried him inside. Tony and Bruce were waiting just inside to greet them.

“Oh thank God, you found him,” Bruce sighed in relief.

“Jesus, what happened?” said Tony.

“Get Doctor Cho, now,” Steve ordered.

There was a flurry of movement and Pietro was vaguely aware of being inside the elevator, then everything went black.

 

***

 

Pietro had only felt this tired one other time in his life, and he’d nearly died that time too. He opened his eyes groggily and found Wanda sitting at his bedside, diligently keeping watch over him. Steve and Helen Cho were a few yards off, speaking quietly. Pietro couldn’t hear what they were saying, but based on their fleeting glances in his direction, he had a pretty good idea that he was the topic.

“How are you feeling?” Wanda asked.

“Drained. Literally,” Pietro replied. “Did it work?”

“We don’t know yet,” said Wanda. “We haven’t heard from Sam.”

“How long was I out?”

“About an hour and a half. I’m surprised it wasn’t longer, you lost a lot of blood.”

Pietro didn’t respond. He looked down at his bandaged wrists, feeling slightly ashamed. It had been stupid and reckless what he did, but all he had wanted was to get Clint back. And now he didn’t even know if it had been worth it. He was yanked from his thoughts by the sound of shouting echoing down the hall. All four of them looked toward the door as the voices grew louder and they could hear what they were saying.

“–don’t care, I need to see him.”

“He just nearly bled to death, for God’s sake.”

“All the more reason for me to see him.”

“Would you slow down a second?”

“No, I won’t, I need to give that idiot a piece of my mind!”

The door flew open and Clint burst into the room, closely followed by Natasha and Sam, both of whom looked extremely exasperated.

“Pietro!” Clint exclaimed, rushing forward.

He was wide-eyed and frantic and covered in dirt, but other than that he was unscathed and very much alive. It had worked. Pietro’s heart seemed to swell in his chest like a balloon.

“You. Complete. Idiot!” said Clint. “What the _fuck_ were you doing, messing around with some black magic voodoo lady to bring me back? Do you realize all the things that could have gone wrong? You could’ve started a zombie apocalypse, you could have been _killed_! You nearly _were_ killed, I mean look at you, you’re pale as a sheet and all bandaged up and Jesus _Christ_ , Pietro, never fucking do that again!”

And with that, he broke down sobbing, clutching Pietro’s hand like a life line. 

“I’m sorry,” Pietro said quietly. “I... I wasn’t thinking properly. I...” His lip trembled and a tear escaped down his cheek. “I missed you like hell, Clint. I just wanted you back.”

Clint looked at him and kissed his hand, then took Pietro’s face in his mud-caked hands and kissed him hard on the lips. He tasted vaguely of dirt, but Pietro didn’t even care. Clint was _here_ , he was alive. When Clint finally broke away, Pietro was beaming at him, eyes still shining with tears.

“You know, you sure do have a lot of energy for a man who was dead an hour ago,” Pietro teased.

“Oh shut up,” said Clint. “I’m still mad at you, y’know. Though... I am grateful. Being dead kinda sucks. So... thanks. Just don’t pull any bullshit like that again.”

“Don’t die again and I won’t have to,” Pietro shot back. “And you’re welcome”

“You two are the biggest idiots I have ever met,” said Wanda fondly.

“Alright, I think that’s enough excitement for one night,” Helen intervened. “Mr. Maximoff needs to rest and Agent Barton, I’m afraid you’re going to need a shower before I let you spend any more time in my facility.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Clint. He gave Pietro a quick kiss on the forehead, then straightened up. “I’ll be by your side first thing in the morning, sweetheart.”

Pietro smiled, watching him walk away until the door swung shut behind him. Then he leaned back on his pillows and let himself slip off to sleep.


	5. Consequences

Pietro was only kept in medical for two days, which even with his accelerated healing was surprising. Still, he was glad to no longer be confined to a bed, especially now that Clint was back. He was able to join the rest of the team for dinner that evening (he suspected that his release from the med ward and Clint’s resurrection may have had something to do with the whole team actually eating together for once), and by the end of the night he retired to his own room hand in hand with Clint, just as it should be. Having nearly bled to death just two days before, Pietro was unusually exhausted, so the two of them went straight to bed and he curled up against Clint, draping his arm across his torso. For the first time in weeks, he was content.

However, that was not to last apparently. It was two forty-five, and Pietro wasn’t entirely sure why he had woken up. The room was dark and still at first glance, and he was about to close his eyes again when he heard a quiet whimper behind him. He rolled over and his heart sank. Clint was still asleep, but he was trembling, clutching his pillow, sweat beading on his furrowed brow. Pietro reached out a hand and placed it on Clint’s shoulder, gently trying to shake him awake.

“Clint,” he whispered. “Clint, it’s okay, wake up.”

He prodded a little harder and Clint woke with a start.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Pietro said.

Clint took a few shaky breaths and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was just a bad dream. I’ll be alright.”

“Are you sure?” Pietro asked.

Clint paused, avoiding his gaze.

“No, I’m not sure,” he said at last. “Actually... I really don’t know if I’m gonna be okay.”

Pietro sat up, frowning.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve had these dreams... these nightmares, I should say, the last couple nights too,” said Clint. “Ever since I came back.”

“What kind of nightmares are they?” Pietro asked.

“I don’t know... they’re hard to explain. I don’t really understand them. Mostly it’s just feelings. Pain, suffering, fear... the weird thing is, it all feels so familiar, but I can’t figure out why.”

Pietro had a nasty suspicion, and a fresh wave of guilt swept over him, making him nauseous. 

“Clint...” he began tentatively. “Do you... remember what happened to you? After you died?”

“Not really... hang on, you don’t think I’m dreaming about... _death_.... do you?” said Clint.

“I don’t know,” said Pietro. “It’s possible. I mean, there’s not exactly a precedent for this, it’s not like we could ask anyone...”

“But... if I _am_ dreaming about death, then... would all that suffering mean... I was in hell?”

That had been the fear on Pietro’s mind, of course, but hearing Clint say it out loud made the unpleasant pit in his stomach even worse.

“I don’t know,” he said again. 

They fell silent for a moment. It was true, neither of them _knew_ whether Clint had been in hell or not, and unless Clint somehow remembered what had happened to him in the two weeks between when he died and when he woke up in his grave, it was highly likely they would never know for certain. But still, the very idea that Clint may have gone to hell made Pietro sick.

“Look,” said Pietro. “If you _were_ in hell, it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re here now. You’re alive. And you’re with me. I’m not going to let anything hurt you, and the next time you have one of these nightmares, I’ll be right here to help you through it. Everything will be okay, I promise.”

Clint smiled gratefully at him.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” he said fondly.

“Once or twice. But I could never get tired of hearing it.”

Pietro laid back down and pulled Clint close to him, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll be right here.”

 

***

 

About a week had passed since Clint’s return. Pietro and Clint had been taking it easy, just staying in and letting themselves recover from nearly dying and being dead respectively, but neither of them were very good at being cooped up for long and they agreed that they needed to get out.

“How about we go on a date tonight?” Clint suggested as they sat together on the couch watching _Friends_ reruns for the fourth time that week. “We haven’t gone on a date in a while.”

“Sure, why not,” said Pietro.

“I was thinking dinner. I’ll pay.”

“You know perfectly well I can pay for my own meals.”

“Consider it a ‘thanks for bringing me back from the dead’ present,” said Clint.

Pietro smirked.

“Okay, okay, you can treat me,” he said.

“Good, ‘cause I was gonna do it whether you liked it or not.”

 

A few hours later, they sat down at their usual haunt – a pizza place that both of them agreed was the best in town. Neither of them could ever really decide on any other place to go when they went out, so they just kept coming back to the same restaurant. Luckily, it really did have amazing pizza, and by now all the servers knew them both by name.

It was a nice evening, so they decided to walk home after dinner. They held hands, walking in contented silence. Pietro kept placing teasing kisses on Clint’s neck and ear, until finally, a few blocks from Avengers Tower, Clint pulled him into an alley and shoved him against the wall, kissing him hard. Pietro grinned and kissed back, honestly fully willing to have sex in that alley if that was what Clint wanted. But Clint suddenly broke away with a slightly confused frown.

“Did you hear something?” he said quietly.

“No, I... oh shit.”

A man stepped out of the shadows just behind Clint, knife raised. Pietro grabbed Clint and yanked him out of the way, but not before the blade had gauged a deep cut into Clint’s shoulder. 

“Shit,” Clint gasped, clutching the wound to try and slow the bleeding.

Pietro wanted nothing more than to tend to Clint’s injury, but there was still the matter of the mysterious knife-man. He dodged just in time as the man came for him next, then put on a burst of speed and ran at the man, forcing him away from Clint. He went to punch the man in the face, leaving himself unfortunately open as the man lunged under Pietro’s fist and slashed the knife across his side. Pietro yelped in pain, his hand going immediately to the cut, and the man took advantage of the distraction to make his escape. Grimacing, Pietro staggered back over to Clint.

“What the fuck?” Clint said.

“I know, right?”

“No, I mean _what the fuck?!_ ”

Clint was gesturing wildly at his injured shoulder. Or more accurately, his previously injured shoulder. There was still blood on his torn jacket, but all other sign of a wound was gone.

“What the fuck?” said Pietro.

He looked down at his own wound, but it hadn’t miraculously vanished. Just Clint’s. 

“The blood heals,” said a raspy voice behind them.

Pietro and Clint both wheeled around, ready to fight. It was the old witch. 

“What the hell does that mean?” Pietro said.

“You have power now,” the woman said. “You must learn of it.”

She held out a tattered old book to them. Pietro and Clint just stared at it.

“If you want to know what I mean,” the woman continued. “Then you’ll take the book.”

Clint took an apprehensive step forward and took the book from her. Then the woman turned and left without a word.

“I’m guessing that that was the lady who brought me back,” said Clint.

“Yeah...”

Pietro frowned, pressing his hand harder against his side to put more pressure on his injury.

“Come on,” said Clint. “We need to get you stitched up.”

 

“What the hell happened to you?” Tony said the moment Pietro and Clint entered the room. “I thought you went out for dinner.”

“We did. Got tailed by some knife-wielding bastard,” said Clint. “Doctor Cho, a little help?”

“Of course,” said Helen, standing up and leading them off to the medical bay.

 

Half an hour later, Pietro was patched up and changed out of his bloodstained clothes. He and Clint were sitting on their bed with the book the woman had given them lying open on a page she had marked for them. It was the instructions for the spell she had used to bring Clint back to life, including the unexpected side effect that she had failed to tell Pietro about: from now on, any wound Clint has, no matter how severe, could be healed by the shedding of Pietro’s blood.

“But why the hell didn’t she _tell_ you that there’d be consequences? That there’d be a side effect?” Clint protested.

“Do you really think it would have stopped me if she had?” said Pietro. “Clint, you don’t understand. I can _save_ you now, I can heal you.”

“Yeah, by hurting yourself,” said Clint furiously. “I can’t let you do that, Pietro.”

“And I can’t just sit by and let you get hurt, not when I have the power to stop it.”

“You really think I’m gonna let you just open a vein every time I get beat up?” Clint said. He took Pietro’s hands in his, turning them palms up so the scars on his wrists were visible. “I am _never_ going to be able to forget that you have these scars because of me. That you as good as put them there yourself just to bring me back. I can’t watch you hurt yourself again on my account.”

“I had the opportunity to bring you back and I took it,” argued Pietro. “Now I have the opportunity to save your life and I’m gonna take that too. You can’t make me lose you again. You have no idea what that was like.”

“Yes, I do!” said Clint. Pietro was startled to see that there were tears in his eyes. “I lost you once too, you know. The guilt when that happened nearly killed me, even after we knew you were gonna make it. If you killed yourself to save my life... I don’t think I could live with it.”

“I’m not gonna kill myself, Clint,” Pietro assured him.

“You say that now, but this whole situation begs to differ.”

“Would you rather I let you die?”

“If it means _you_ don’t have to, then yes,” said Clint.

“Fat chance,” said Pietro. “I have the power to save you, and I’m damn well going to use it. I know I can’t really make any promises about my own life, but I do promise that no matter how bad it gets, I’ll try my hardest to save myself too. Deal?”

Clint sighed heavily.

“Well, I suppose there’s no stopping you. So yeah. Deal.”

 


	6. Side-Effects of the Consequences

 

They decided to go back to staying in the next day, since their last outing had gone _so_ well (all the best dates end with both parties getting stabbed). It was also probably for the best that they took it easy, because Pietro had made rather a habit of busting his stitches every time he was injured, and he didn’t feel much like enduring the combined exasperation of Wanda, Clint, and Doctor Cho.

Of course, that didn’t last very long. Late that afternoon, Pietro and Clint were just lying in bed kissing. Taking it plenty easy. Then Clint casually rolled on top of Pietro, straddling him, never separating their lips for a second. Pietro grinned, enjoying the familiar warmth of Clint’s body enveloping his, and wrapped his arms around Clint to pull him closer. Barely a minute later, Pietro broke away.

“What do you say we get a few less layers between us, if you know what I mean,” he said with a smirk.

“I would love to.”

They both sat up, Clint still straddling Pietro, and took off their shirts. Pietro paused a moment to gaze adoringly at Clint, running his hands over Clint’s muscled abdomen.

“I thought you wanted to fuck, now you’re just gonna stare at me all sappily?” Clint teased.

Pietro grinned at him wickedly.

“Shut up and take off your pants,” he ordered.

Clint rolled off of him and slipped his jeans off, tossing them onto the floor.

“Now take off mine,” Pietro said.

“Bossy.”

“You know you like it.”

“Yeah, I kinda do...”

Clint sat up and undid the button on Pietro’s pants, then began to slowly inch them down his waist. Pietro watched him hungrily, impatient for Clint to finish stripping him but at the same time, eating up every second under Clint’s lusty gaze. Finally, Clint finished removing his pants and crawled back up to kiss him, grinding up against him until Pietro moaned.

 

About an hour later, Pietro wandered into the living room in his sweatpants.

“Doctor Cho?” he said sheepishly. “I, uh... tore my stitches by accident...”

Helen sighed and got up, beckoning him off to the medical ward.

“You know, maybe it’s not a good idea to have sex with fresh stitches,” she said.

“I wasn’t! Oh fine, yes I was. But come on, he was dead a week ago, can you blame me?”

 

***

 

Five days later, a report came in from Fury about a Hydra platoon that had been terrorizing a small town in Norway. Their orders: go in there and drive the bastards out. Easy enough, it was something the Avengers had done a dozen times since the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.. However, as they began preparing for the mission, it became painfully clear that there would be one major complication: Pietro and Clint.

“Dude, you got stabbed less than a week ago, are you sure you should be going?” Clint protested, following Pietro as he dutifully helped load the quinjet.

“You were literally dead two weeks ago, Clint, I think I could ask the same of you,” Pietro shot back.

“There’s also this whole stupid curse thing, and I am _not_ gonna be responsible for you dying to save me. Again.”

“Well, if you don’t go, then we won’t have to worry about that,” said Pietro.

“Like hell. I’m not staying behind while you go run around in Norway and get shot at,” said Clint.

“And _I’m_ not doing that either!”

“Well you’re sure as hell not going.”

“Excuse me!?” said Pietro. “And what if you _do_ get hurt, what am I supposed to do then? How am I supposed to help you from here?”

“If I get hurt I’m gonna get patched up like everybody else does, I don’t need you bleeding all over the place for me,” Clint said. “And if you come with us, that’s exactly what you’re gonna try and do.”

“I’m coming, Clint. I can’t protect you from here.”

“I’m a grown man, I don’t need protecting!”

“And neither do I, that’s why I’m coming.”

“Pietro...”

“You’re not coming.”

“Yes! I am!”

“I’m not letting you die again.”

“I’m not gonna die!”

“Oh for the love of God, will you two please SHUT UP?!” Tony interrupted.

Pietro and Clint stared at him, both looking alarmed and slightly ashamed.

“Look,” said Tony. “We need everybody we can get for this fight. That means _both of you_. So stop being so hyper-protective and accept that you’re both adults and can take care of yourselves. You can work out your codependency issues later, okay? But for now, stop arguing and load the fucking jet.”


	7. Element of Surprise

 

The flight to Norway was awkward to say the least. No one said anything unless they had to, and the others kept casting glances over at Pietro and Clint. Pietro just sat there, fuming silently. He didn’t want to leave things on a bad note like this, especially when they were about to go into a fight. Most couples talked about not going to bed angry, but that would be nothing compared to one of them dying in this fight without them ever making up. The only trouble was, Pietro and Clint were both too stubborn and awkward to bring it up. After several hours of silence, Wanda came over and stood in front of them with her arms crossed over her chest authoritatively. Pietro knew that look on her face and knew he was about to get scolded.

“Okay, you two,” she said. “We’re about a half hour away. I expect you to have talked this out and made up by the time we land. Is that clear?”

Pietro and Clint both nodded and she walked away.

“I’m sorry I was a stubborn jerk,” said Clint.

“It’s okay,” Pietro said. “I’m sorry I was a condescending ass.”

“I forgive you too,” Clint said. “Well... good talk.”

Pietro smiled.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”

Pietro leaned in and kissed Clint’s cheek, then took his hand and held it for the rest of the flight. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Wanda and Natasha exchange a look of fond exasperation. 

 

***

 

They parked the quinjet outside of town and walked the rest of the way. The city was absolutely ravaged. Several buildings had been burnt to the ground, the streets and alleys were full of people clutching their few remaining belongings, huddled together to keep warm as they crouched on the snowy pavement. Pietro looked at them sadly as he passed, wishing he had something to give them. He and Wanda had once lived like that. He knew what it was like. They stopped so Steve could talk to a woman who knew where the Hydra agents were staking out. Pietro’s heart lifted just a little bit; they did have something to give these people, he realized. They were going to drive out the bastards who did this. They were going to save them.

Steve led them onward to the place the woman had told him about. It was a tavern at the center of town, not very defensible but there were bedrooms and food. They stopped about a block away from the tavern and Steve gave them their orders. No entrance or exit was to be left unattended. They’d just burst in there and take them out, like fish in a barrel. It seemed like it’d be pretty easy – they had the element of surprise on their side – but Pietro didn’t want to get his hopes up. They’d be fighting in close quarters, stuck inside where he’d hardly have room to run, and there’d be tables and chairs and other obstacles. Not exactly his ideal fighting environment. But he’d adapt. He was good at that. He took Clint’s hand and gave him a quick kiss, then slipped off to get in position.

Steve’s voice signaled them through the comms and Pietro ran forward, knocking the door flat to the ground, then came screeching to a halt, eyes wide in panic. All of the Hydra agents they had been hoping to surprise were lined up at the entrances to the tavern, guns trained on the Avengers. Hydra had known they were coming. _How did they know?_ Pietro put on a burst of speed and dove behind a turned-over table as the volley of bullets flew from their guns, peppering the thin walls with holes. The table was a flimsy shield, and Pietro had to dodge as three bullets pierced the wood within inches of his head. At last, he saw an opening and dashed out from behind the table. He ran along the line of agents, knocking guns from hands, punching them down before they even knew what hit them. 

He paused just a moment to glance around the room. He knew most of his teammates were probably okay, they had ways of shielding themselves from Hydra’s onslaught. But not all of them had vibranium shields or magic or metal armor. Clint had none of those things, and Pietro didn’t think he’d be able to survive the sight of Clint riddled with bullets a second time. But there was no sign of him. A jolt of fear shot through him, and he momentarily forgot that he was surrounded by enemies dead set on killing him.

“Is everyone okay? Is Clint hurt?” Pietro said into the comms, too anxious to mask the real reason for his question.

“I’m fine, calm down,” Clint replied.

Pietro sighed in relief.

“Just keep it that way, okay?”

“Trying to.”

Feeling considerably less panicked, Pietro flew back into action. He had been right to worry about the cramped environment; the tavern was cluttered and small and he had even less room to run than he’d anticipated. Tony had blasted out half of one wall by accident, but that did nothing to make Pietro feel less trapped. He couldn’t run, not like he needed to. There were too many things in the way, too much to trip on, and tripping was an unusually dangerous thing for him. He was forced to slow down, not all the way, but just enough that he could navigate the tight space, using walls and counters like vaults, springing off them as he switched directions.

He wasn’t the only one having difficulty because of the smallness of the tavern. And there was one particular Hydra agent that was making the situation even harder. He was a huge, menacing man, almost brutish in his size and ferocity. Rather than guns like the rest of the agents carried, this man had opted for a large machete, and thanks to this weapon it was practically impossible for any of the Avengers to get close enough to him to cause any damage. Taking him down would change the game for them and make it easier to win. The platoon wasn’t all that big and this man represented most of their muscle. 

Pietro saw his chance and decided to take it. Putting on a burst of speed more powerful than any he’d dared so far today, he ran at the man from behind and tackled him. Pietro’s speed combined with the man’s monstrous size sent them flying through the wall and out into the snowy street. Pietro was on his feet in an instant, ready to fight. The man got up surprisingly quick, and immediately swung his machete. Pietro side-stepped, and the man was thrown off balance momentarily by the speed of the dodge. He swung again and Pietro dodged, and then again. The man’s persistence despite his failure boosted Pietro’s confidence and brought on a smirk.

“What’s the matter?” he taunted, ducking the blade again. “Can’t swing fast enough?”

The man growled and lunged at him again. Pietro dodged and raised an eyebrow at him cockily.

“Not even close. You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that if you wanna catch me.”

He ran a circle around the man so quick that he was back where he’d been standing in less than a second. The man only got more infuriated, so Pietro taunted him further, yawning lazily as though dodging the machete was the easiest task in the world.

“Hold still, you bitch!” the man snarled.

“Sorry, this bitch doesn’t plan on dying today,” Pietro shrugged, stepping casually aside as the machete swung within inches of his neck.

“Pietro!” 

His cocky facade slipped ever so slightly at the sound of his name and the sight of Clint standing in the street. The man turned at Clint’s shout just in time to get an arrow in the shoulder. The arrow didn’t seem to do much except anger the man even more than Pietro already had. He growled and made for Clint, raising his machete high.

“No!” Pietro cried.

He ran forward, shoving Clint out of the way. Clint fell to the ground and looked quickly back around, just as the machete drove through Pietro’s chest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry


	8. Please Don't

 

Pietro looked down at the machete protruding from his chest, an almost confused frown on his face. The blade had gone straight through him, right up to the hilt. Every part of him screamed in agony, but he couldn’t make a sound. Suddenly, another arrow hit the man in the chest, but still it hardly seemed to do more than make him angry. He yanked the sword roughly from Pietro’s body, and without it to keep him upright, he stumbled to the ground. Pietro watched helplessly as the man bore down on Clint and stabbed the blade into his side. Clint cried out in pain, and the man pulled his machete back, staggering away from them and clutching the arrow still sticking from his ribs. Pietro paid him no mind; he had done all the damage he was capable of. All his attention was focused on Clint, who was dragging himself across the ground toward him, leaving a trail of blood behind him in the snow.

_Well_ , Pietro thought grimly. _At least I can heal that._

“Pietro,” Clint gasped as he reached him at last. “Oh God, why did you do that?”

“I couldn’t let you get hurt,” Pietro said. “I didn’t expect...”

Clint ran a blood-covered hand through Pietro’s hair, probably leaving streaks of red through the white locks, but what did it matter. He’d be dead soon anyways. Pietro peered down at Clint’s side, and sure enough, the wound seemed to be healing. At least his death would be good for something.

“Dammit, Pietro, you promised me... you promised this wouldn’t happen,” said Clint. “I can’t just let you die for me like this. I can’t.”

“Don’t go to her, Clint,” Pietro pleaded. “Don’t go to her to bring me back. I don’t want you under this curse too. I’m not worth it.”

“Not worth it? Pietro, you’re worth the world. I’d burn the whole damn planet down for you. Just please, let me save you.”

“Not like that. Please,” said Pietro. He could feel the last of his strength failing him; he had only a few moments left. His breath caught painfully in his chest as he gazed up into Clint’s tear-filled eyes. “Clint... I–”

 

***

 

Clint cradled Pietro in his arms, making no attempt to slow the tears streaming down his cheeks. The snow around him was stained red with Pietro’s blood. So much blood...

“No no no, please, Pietro, don’t do this to me, not again. Don’t you die on me. I can save you. I have to save you. You _can’t_ die, you _can’t_ be dead, please. Please, Pietro. Don’t leave me here without you.”

He was rambling, babbling, but at the moment that was all he was capable of. Pietro was _dead_ , skewered right through the heart. Clint had failed him. They were supposed to keep each other safe, but not like this. Not by leaping in front of a sword. And yet that was all they had done to protect each other, ever since that very first time. Every time, they had just jumped blindly into danger to shield the other from harm, and every time, one of them had ended up dead for it. And what was Clint supposed to do about it this time? There was no chance of Pietro still clinging on to life like he had in Sokovia, when Helen Cho’s miracle machine had saved him. And how now could Clint go to that witch for help when Pietro’s dying wish had been for him to do exactly the opposite? He _had_ to save him, he knew he did. He couldn’t live with it if he didn’t. But _how_?

“I can bring him back,” said a deep, raspy voice.

Clint looked up. It was the witch, the old woman. How she’d gotten to Norway, Clint had no idea, and quite frankly he didn’t give a damn. He was just pissed. How dare she show up here when it was as good as her fault that Pietro was dead?

“No. Not you,” he said, clutching Pietro’s body closer to his chest. “I can’t do that. I promised.”

He hadn’t actually promised, sure, but Pietro hadn’t wanted him to bring him back like that, he’d said it with his final breath, so it was as good as a promise now.

“There are other ways,” the woman said.

“Then why didn’t you use them on me instead of saddling him with this fucking curse?” Clint spat. “Or better yet, why didn’t you just leave him alone?”

“You had been dead for too long for any other methods,” the woman replied. “But he has only just died. You needn’t tie your blood to his to save him.”

Clint’s expression softened slightly. He didn’t dare let himself hope too much. But still, he wanted to save Pietro. He had to.

“Why are you here? Why are you so interested in helping us?” he asked.

“I can hear your pain, just as I heard his. Your grief is loud and violent, impossible to ignore. Impossible not to pity.”

“I don’t need your pity,” said Clint. “I just need him back. I don’t care what it takes. Kill me if you have to. Just save him.”

“Very well,” said the woman. “I should warn you. The side-effect of the spell used to resurrect you will not be taken off of him. Death cannot break it. There is only one thing that can.”

“And what’s that?”

“A spell. You’ve had it all along, but you didn’t look. It’s in the book,” the woman told him. She rolled up her sleeves. “And now to revive the boy. You will need to stand back.”

Clint leaned down and pressed his lips to Pietro’s already cold forehead, then got to his feet and stepped back. The woman began emptying her pockets, taking out bottles that Clint wasn’t sure he wanted to know the contents of. 

“Wait,” Clint said suddenly. The woman stopped and looked at him. “There won’t be any more side-effects with this spell, will there?”

“No, there are none. Like I said, he has only just died. That makes retrieving him considerably easier.”

“Right. Okay. Carry on.”

The woman returned to work, mixing ingredients in a wooden bowl. Then she started pouring the contents of the bowl into the snow, forming a perfect circle around Pietro’s body. Just then, Wanda ran out of the tavern and Clint threw out his arms to stop her.

“Wanda, wait,” he said.

“Who is this woman? What is she doing to him?” Wanda asked, her eyes wide and full of tears.

“She’s saving him.”

Wanda stared in disbelief as the woman completed her circle.

“Is she the one who brought you back?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah...”

“Are you sure we can trust her?”

“I hope so.”

The woman had begun to chant an incantation, standing over Pietro and holding some mysterious substance in her palms. Clint’s heart was beating a mile a minute, terrified of a million possible outcomes, forcing himself not to hope too much. The woman held her hands aloft, raising them to the sky, then opened them. Whatever powdery substance she had been holding fell like snow onto Pietro. The moment it touched his skin, a flash of blinding white light filled the street and a crack like thunder shattered the frigid air.


	9. It Happens in a Flash

 

For a brief moment, Pietro felt like his entire body was on fire. Air flooded into his lungs and he gasped, sucking in the cold oxygen as though he’d resurfaced from the bottom of the ocean. His chest burned with ice and he took a few more deep, desperate gasps as his lungs relearned how to breath. He opened his eyes and found himself blinded by the brightness of the sky. He blinked until his eyes adjusted to the light, then slowly sat up and took in his surroundings. He was sitting in the street, the powdery snow where he had been lying stained red with blood. _His_ blood. He looked down at his chest. His shirt was dark and wet with blood and there was a gaping hole in the fabric, but no sign of a wound. He remembered the machete buried to the hilt in his chest. And then... _Clint_. 

Pietro turned frantically and found Clint and Wanda, staring at him in disbelief. Pietro gave them a relieved smile and Wanda dashed forward, fell to her knees, and threw her arms around Pietro’s neck. Pietro returned the hug, burying his face in her hair. Wanda kissed the side of his head and pulled away smiling. Clint came forward and pulled Pietro close, kissing him hard and sloppy. Pietro cupped Clint’s face in his hands, trying to wipe away the tears that still lingered there but only succeeding in smearing blood all over Clint’s cheeks. He giggled embarrassedly, then rested his forehead against Clint’s, gazing into his eyes. Then his smile faltered as he realized...

“Clint, why am I back? What did you do?” he said.

“It’s okay, Pietro. I didn’t do that spell,” said Clint. “The witch lady _did_ help, but it’s okay. There’s no consequences this time, I promise.”

“What?! That woman is _here_?” 

Pietro looked around, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. He turned back to Clint, who was frowning in confusion.

“That’s weird...” he muttered.

“Are you absolutely sure there’s no side-effects?” Pietro demanded.

“Yes, I’m sure. She said it was an easier spell since you hadn’t been dead that long,” Clint replied. “It’s okay, Pietro. We’re both gonna be okay.”

Pietro smiled and kissed Clint again.

“Holy _shit_.”

They broke apart and turned toward the new voice. Tony and Sam had joined them and were both staring at the pool of blood in which Pietro was still sitting.

“What the hell happened?” Sam said.

“I got shish-kabobbed by the crazy machete guy,” Pietro said casually.

“That’s _your_ blood?!” Tony exclaimed. “How the fuck are you alive?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then how are you alive _now_?”

“Clint saved me.”

“What, you developed resurrection powers or something?” said Sam.

“Naw, we’re just being stalked by a witch lady,” Clint said.

“Oh,” said Sam. “Well... that’s.... okay.... should we be concerned?”

“Not sure yet,” said Clint. “But considering she helped both Pietro and me come back to life, I’d say we’re okay for now.”


	10. For You

 

By the time they got back to Avengers Tower, Pietro was desperate for a shower. All of the blood soaking his torso had dried, and the feeling of his already skintight shirt plastered to his skin by dried blood was extremely unpleasant. When they got home, he and Clint went up to their room and he was finally able to peel off his uniform.

“Well, there’s no hope for _that_ shirt,” he announced, tossing it aside.

He went into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped in, sighing as the hot water began to rinse away the filth covering his body. The curtain slid open and Clint joined him. 

“My God, you’re a mess,” said Clint.

“Side-effect of bleeding out half your insides,” Pietro said.

“You know... speaking of side-effects,” Clint said tentatively, avoiding Peitro’s eye. “There’s a way to get rid of the one you picked up from resurrecting me.”

“There is?” 

“Yeah. The witch told me before she brought you back. Apparently it’s been in that book she gave us all along.”

“You want me to do it, don’t you?” Pietro said.

Clint finally looked at him, a sad, pleading look in his eyes. He just stared for a moment, taking in Pietro’s blood-caked body, then picked up a washcloth and started to gently scrub away the mess. Pietro grabbed Clint’s hand, holding it still.

“Answer me. Please.”

“Yes, I want you to do it,” Clint sighed.

“No,” Pietro said firmly.

“See, that’s why I didn’t want to answer, because I knew you’d say that,” said Clint.

“You think this is a curse, but it’s a gift. It allows me to _save_ you,” Pietro argued.

“Yeah, and a fat lot of good it’s done for you,” said Clint. “You _died_ today, Pietro. _Died_. There was a fucking machete sticking right through you, and I had to watch that happen. I watched you die knowing that every drop of blood you lost was stitching up my wound, and there was nothing I could do about yours. And yeah, that witch showed up and saved your ass but we can’t count on her every time you decide to spill your guts for me. I can’t let that happen to you again.”

“Clint...”

“Pietro, please. You have to get rid of this. For me.”

Pietro looked at him and saw how important this was, how much Clint meant every word he had said. And honestly, he understood. He had watched Clint die for him once and had barely been able to live with it. It was the whole reason they were in this mess. What right did he have to inflict that kind of pain on Clint in a desperate attempt to escape that pain himself? It was selfish, to say the least.

“It really means that much to you?” Pietro said quietly.

“Yeah it does,” said Clint. “I can’t keep losing you, kid.”

Pietro leaned in and kissed him as tenderly as he knew how. 

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it. For you.”

 

***

 

The next morning, Pietro and Clint gathered the rest of the Avengers around the kitchen table. The spell book sat in front of them, open to the page that held the instructions for the counter-spell.

“So let me get this straight,” said Bruce. “You two want us to help you perform this complicated spell, where about three dozen things could go wrong, when absolutely none of us have done magic in our entire lives?”

“Yup,” said Clint.

“It’s not _that_ complicated,” Pietro said. “All we really have to do is mix the right ingredients and say the incantation correctly.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a bit more to it than that,” said Sam.

“Speaking of ingredients, how the hell are you even supposed to get all this stuff?” said Tony.

“I know a few people,” Natasha offered. “They could get us what we need, or at least tell me where to find it.”

“That would be awesome,” said Clint. “Thanks, Nat.”

“You guys are really serious about this?” Steve asked.

“ _Weeell_....” Pietro said innocently.

“Shut up, Pietro. Yes, we are,” said Clint.

“Then I’m in,” said Steve. “If you’re gonna try something stupid, I’m not gonna let you do it alone.”

“If Steve’s in, I’m in,” said Sam.

“You know I’ll always help you, brother,” said Wanda.

“What do you say, Bruce? Shall we forsake our loyalties to science for superhero Hogwarts?” Tony said.

Pietro and Clint rolled their eyes.

“Like Cap said, if you’re gonna do something stupid, the least we can do is help,” said Bruce.

“Alrighty then,” said Clint. “Let’s get to work.”


	11. Perchance to Dream

 

It took them four days to hunt down all the supplies they needed for the spell. That night, they pushed aside all the furniture in the living room and began to prepare. Steve was reading out the instructions while the rest of them gathered up the ingredients and added them to the beat-up wooden bowl. 

“Well, that part’s done,” said Sam. “What’s the next step, Steve?”

“Okay... um... Clint and Pietro need to sit on the floor facing each other and then you can make a circle around them with that stuff,” said Steve.

Pietro and Clint sat down in the middle of the room and watched as Wanda poured out the contents of the bowl, creating a slightly wobbly circle. 

“Okay, set up the candles,” Steve said.

Tony and Natasha surrounded them with black candles, lighting them as they went, then stepped back.

“Now for the slightly less pleasant part...” said Steve.

“Looks like we’re up,” Pietro said to Clint.

They each took out a knife and sliced the blade across their palms, then clasped hands so that the bleeding cuts were pressed together.

“Good luck, Cap,” Clint said.

Then Steve began to read the incantation. He didn’t know the language, so he read haltingly and had to pause several times so he wouldn’t stumble over the words and risk ruining the spell. As he read, the lights in the room flickered and went out, and a breeze made the candles flutter. Pietro’s heart was pounding nervously. Bruce had been right, none of them had ever done anything like this before and there were so many things that could go wrong. He looked at Clint, who was watching him anxiously as though expecting him to keel over at any moment. Pietro tightened his grip on Clint’s hand. A trickle of blood ran down his wrist, and Pietro couldn’t help but wonder whose blood it was. Another gust of wind blew through the room, ruffling their hair and making the candles dance. Then Steve read the final words of the spell. The candles suddenly went out, throwing them all into darkness.

“Oh shit,” Pietro muttered.

“Is this supposed to happen?” said Clint.

“I don’t know...” Steve replied.

“Clint...” Pietro said.

“What?”

“I can’t move.”

Just then, the candles relit, but the light they cast wasn’t the usual warm glow of firelight. It was eery and cold, sending weird shadows dancing around the room. Clint was staring at Pietro, looking frightened. 

“Pietro... are you... are you okay?” he asked nervously. 

Pietro couldn’t respond. He could barely even breathe. His vision was swimming, going dark around the edges, flickering in and out between Clint sitting in front of him and... well, he wasn’t sure what else he was seeing. Flashes of something, getting more and more frequent until suddenly he couldn’t see Clint at all. He stared unblinking at the scene in front of him. He was staring at... _himself_. Only he hardly looked like himself anymore. He was horrifyingly pale, the light of the candles casting shadows that made his face look skeletal. His eyes were wide and stared at him but saw nothing. 

“Pietro?”

He heard Clint’s voice, but it was within his own head. _No_ , it was in Clint’s head. Pietro was seeing what Clint saw. 

“Clint!” he tried to shout, but Clint didn’t seem to hear him.

Then everything changed, and he wasn’t on the floor of Avengers Tower anymore, but on the floor of the old witch’s apartment. He looked down at his hands and saw blood pouring from his wrists, faster than seemed natural. Desperate, not thinking, he tried to staunch the flow of blood with his hands, putting pressure on the deep cuts that had sliced right through his veins.

“No, please,” he gasped, his head spinning from blood loss. “I can’t die, I have to get back to Clint! I promised. I _promised_.”

His eyes stung with tears that blurred his vision. He blinked and found himself kneeling not in the witch’s apartment, but among the ruins of a fallen building. Blood still poured relentlessly over his hands, yet he still hadn’t lost consciousness. Then he realized where he was – he was in that city, the one where Clint had...

“No.”

Clint lay dead in front of him, staring with glassy eyes at the sky. But his body wasn’t riddled with bullet holes. Pietro frowned, scanning over him until he found the cause of his death: Clint’s wrists were slit, pools of blood forming on the dirty pavement.

“ _No_...”

Pietro looked down at his own hands and was surprised to find them perfectly clean, his wrists as smooth and unscarred as a child’s. Then he saw the patches of blood blossoming on his shirt, the three bullet holes in his chest.

“No...” he gasped again. “Please... Clint, please... help me!”

And then he saw nothing but fire.


	12. Dead Men Walking

 

“Pietro? Pietro!”

Everything snapped back to reality all at once. Pietro was breathing like he’s just run a hundred miles. He was sitting on the living room floor, still holding Clint’s hand in a death grip. The candles were flickering normally again and the rest of the lights had come back on. Pietro looked at his wrists and was relieved to see nothing but two thin, pale scars and a single trickle of blood that had escaped from his and Clint’s clasped palms. Slowly, nervously, he untangled his fingers from Clint’s and looked down at their hands. Their palms were smeared with blood and sweat, but there, clearly visible, were the shallow cuts they had carved.  

“It worked,” he said softly.

“Yeah, it did,” said Clint. He looked back up at Pietro. “What the hell just happened to you?”

“Didn’t... didn’t you see any of that?” said Pietro.

“Any of what? All I saw was you sitting there in some sort of trance, looking like a goddamn corpse,” Clint said. “What did _you_ see?”

“It’s difficult to explain...” said Pietro. “Can we leave the circle now? I’m feeling kinda freaked out.”

“Right, yeah...”

They stood up and stepped carefully over the circle of candles. Pietro made a beeline for the sofa and sat down, curling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them, watching as Sam and Bruce started blowing out the candles. Clint came and sat next to him and placed his hand on Pietro’s shoulder. Pietro didn’t respond, but just kept staring straight ahead. The others all watched him nervously, as though unsure how to approach him.

“What did you see?” Clint asked.

Pietro hesitated a moment before speaking.

“Death. And blood. So much blood,” he said hoarsely. “I should be dead. All that blood...”

He looked down at his wrists, at the matching scars there. 

“We’re dead men walking, Clint,” he continued. “Neither of us were supposed to live. But we were too stubborn to let go...”

His hands were trembling now and he couldn’t tear his eyes off of the scars on his wrists, scars that should have killed him.

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” said Clint, grabbing Pietro’s hands and holding them steady. “Yeah, we messed with the natural order of things. Yeah, we should both be dead right now. But you know what? I don’t give a fuck about the natural order. You’re right. We’re both stubborn idiots who can’t let go. And I don’t care. ‘Cause I love you, and I’m not ready to lose you yet.”

Pietro looked at him and smiled gratefully. He leaned in to kiss him, then rested his forehead gently against Clint’s, his eyes still closed.

“I’m not ready to lose you either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, please let me know by leaving kudos and comments. it'll be much appreciated. thanks again!


End file.
